Gemotions

She held the card up, turning it over in her hands, her fingers tracing the generic floral design. She’d been dreading the approach of her birthday. It always brought up memories she'd rather not revisit.

The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. She hadn’t cleaned the house in days. She found a pen and held it poised over the blank space, but she couldn’t bring herself to write anything.

She made herself a cup of tea, the clinking of the china a sharp contrast to the silence. She sat at the table, staring at the card, the feeling of vulnerability a dull ache in her chest. The quiet felt suffocating.